


The Most Troublesome Man in Thedas

by Johaerys



Series: More Than Might Be Wise: Dorian & Tristan Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arguing, Exploring the Hinterlands, Fighting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Somewhat established relationship, more kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johaerys/pseuds/Johaerys
Summary: Tristan Trevelyan is the Herald of Andraste and the leader of the Inquisition. He is also the biggest, most infuriating oaf in all of Thedas and a nightmare to travel with, since he always finds a way to get them all into trouble. As if running around the muddy Hinterlands and being chased by bandits weren't nightmarish enough. Dorian may very well kill him one of these days, and he'll make sure Cassandra is too far away to stop him.The fact that Dorian is certainly, undoubtedly, most definitely besotted with the man is only a minor inconvenience.





	The Most Troublesome Man in Thedas

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Fictober2019 prompt: "Now? Now you listen to me?"

"This place is crawling with bandits," Cassandra said with distaste. The lifeless bodies of several shoddily clad men were strewn at their feet, the expressions of dread still on their faces.

“I wonder what they’re all doing here. We really are in the ass-end of nowhere.”

Dorian glanced at Varric, who was looking up at the tall hills all around them. Dorian couldn’t really blame him for the expression of disapproval and faint disgust on his face; if anyone asked him what he would rather be doing about now, being chased by bandits in a muddy valley in the southern reach of the Hinterlands, several hours away from any sign of civilization, would certainly be the last thing on his list. Having his teeth pulled out and listening to Sera rant about magic for hours were at least two places higher on said list.

Trevelyan was a little way away, wiping his blade on the threadbare tunic of a man by his feet. His brows were knit in a thoughtful frown as he straightened up and glanced at the bright sun overhead, which was slowly moving towards the top of the hills to the west.

"We should find a safe place to camp soon. I don't want to be here come sunset."

"I second that," Cassandra said, sheathing her sword. A thin layer of sweat shone on her forehead. Briskly, she took off her gauntlet and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. It was an unusually warm and sunny day. Even Dorian, who was the least likely to ever get warm in the frigid wasteland that was called Ferelden, was feeling a little flushed under his woollen cloak. He shook it about to get the leaves and dirt off it as soon as he had secured his staff on his back. He couldn't do much about the blood, not without his trusty concoction of soap and oak ash, but it would at least be somewhat presentable for now.

The afternoon rolled in slowly and languidly, and with significant amount of perspiration from all parties as they searched for a suitable place to set up camp. In between the rolling hills, the bandit raids and the entire families of bears that seemed to reside in that area, they managed to find a somewhat safe and tucked away little hill overlooking a small meadow below them.

Trevelyan’s frown had gotten deeper and deeper as the day wore on, and by the time he returned to their humble camp bringing an armful of logs for the fire, the frown had turned into a scowl. Dorian was very much feeling like scowling too, what with all the creatures they had had to kill that day and the humidity that stuck on his skin and dampened his clothes. He knew well that Trevelyan had one more reason to dislike the Hinterlands- those potions he always had to carry with him so that he wouldn't cough and sneeze all over the place.

Sure as clockwork, Trevelyan searched in his pocket as soon as he had plopped down on an log beside him. He produced an innocent looking vial with a bright red liquid inside it. He downed it in one go, much to Cassandra's disapproval. He returned her glare with a questioning look, raising his eyebrows.

"Adan said you shouldn't take so many."

Trevelyan rolled his eyes and frowned at her. "If I’m ever in need of a wetnurse, Cassandra, I'll let you know."

She shot him a disgruntled look and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. It was no secret that their precious Herald Inquisitor infuriated her to end and that she would much rather hit him on the head with the pommel of her sword than listen to his rude comebacks. She resolved to turn her back to him and talk little as she chewed on a piece of dried goat jerky.

Dorian watched as Trevelyan turned around to place the bottle in his satchel and flashed him a tiny mischievous smile, no doubt for having successfully annoyed the Seeker. Dorian could never understand how he took so much satisfaction making people scowl and glare at him, but he found himself smiling back. He could not well do otherwise.

Trevelyan’s gaze drifted from him towards the hills behind them, following their ragged lines. It stopped somewhere in the south, and his eyes widened a little.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding towards a building at the top of a hill.

They all turned around to look. "It's an abandoned villa," Varric said. "I heard about it from the people in the village we passed."

Cassandra eyed him warily. "When did you speak to them? We only stayed for a few moments to get some supplies."

Varric grinned at her. "No such thing as too little time for some small talk, Seeker. You never know what you might learn."

"Ah, yes. I forgot that you have a hard time keeping your tongue behind your teeth."

"I wonder what's in there," Trevelyan said absently, interrupting Varric’s no doubt witty comeback.

"Bandits, most probably," Cassandra said. “There's not a place in this part of the Hinterlands that they haven’t occupied."

Trevelyan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What if there's some sort of treasure? Or at least decent beds? Any place to sleep would be better than this," he said, gesturing towards their hastily set up tents.

Cassandra looked at him wide eyed. "You must be joking."

Instead of a response, Trevelyan stood up, checking his belt for his blades. A quick stop by the potion's table, and off he went.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cassandra demanded after him, but he seemed not to have heard.

Dorian stood up briskly, following in his wake. "I'll keep an eye on him, Seeker. We’ll be back in no time,” he managed to say over his shoulder.

Trevelyan turned to look at him, a glint of mischief in his dark blue eyes.

"Just so you know," Dorian said, catching up with him, " I do find myself agreeing with Cassandra. That is no place to walk in blindly.”

"What harm could there be in taking a quick peek? At worst, we'll see some bandits. At best, we'll find a nice, comfortable bed to sleep in."

"Not to mention dying a horrible death at the hands of murderous strangers. Forgive me, but I'd rather pass."

"You'd pass on a night sleeping by my side?” Trevelyan said, hurt evident on his features. “You wound me."

Dorian gaped at him, flustered. "I... No, that's not what I..." he mumbled awkwardly, before noticing Trevelyan’s mirthful smile. He huffed in mock exasperation and smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "Oh, you handsome devil, you."

Trevelyan’s smile got wider and that tiny little dimple at the edge of his mouth deepened, and it was suddenly as if the world had turned that little bit brighter. "I'll take that as a compliment."

They walked for a while in companionable silence. Dorian relished in the sound of his breath and the fall of his boots on the soft earth, and he found his hand straying more than once to touch his, or thread gently through his arm. It felt more as if they were taking an innocent stroll in nature rather than being on their way to storm a fort, inside of which no one knew what sort of dangers lurked.

The tall gates of the villa soon came into view. It was a large building, one of the few Fereldan buildings that Dorian had found quite impressive. There was a wide balcony, overlooking the wide valley below, and its towers looked sturdy and well made. Whoever once owned it would have surely been a noble, perhaps even an Arl. It smelled of old money.

It also smelt of smoke and animal grease, cooking slowly on a spit. A trail of smoke from a campfire was rising languidly towards a cloudless sky, thick and dark. If there was a better sign not to approach, Dorian couldn’t think of it.

"Alright. We saw what we came here to see. Let's go back now. I can feel my dinner calling me."

Dorian turned to leave, but Trevelyan simply stood there, gazing at the villa with narrowed eyes, squinting against the light. "How many do you think are in there?"

Annoyance slithered in Dorian’s voice, but he tried to keep it level. "It hardly matters, as far as I'm concerned. It’s just the two of us, and probably a lot more of them. Come, let's go back. The Seeker will be expecting us."

Trevelyan continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. "If it's a small group, you and I can most definitely take them. And then we'll have a villa to sleep in instead of those soggy tents."

"Oh for the love of the Maker," Dorian exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "You're not seriously suggesting we storm a keep possibly littered with bandits just because you hate camping, are you?"

But Trevelyan didn't even bother to answer before he took off, crouching like a panther as he climbed the small slope towards the villa's entrance. He seemed as if he were melting into the shadows, his pale blonde hair the only thing standing out amongst the tall grass.

Dorian grumbled in annoyance as he followed in his footsteps, crouching low behind him. A small part of him hoped Trevelyan was right and that the fort wasn't as well manned. He couldn't stand another night sleeping in those shoddy tents either, with the cold slithering in from every crevasse and all sorts of bugs crawling all over him. However, another part of him wanted nothing more than to drag Trevelyan away by his ear, and manners be damned.

Muffled talk and laughter drifted from the inside of the villa. Dorian thought he could hear at least five different voices, and they all sounded cheery and well humoured. They probably had made a big kill that day, and were about to celebrate with a lot of food and ale.

Dorian was about to whisper in Trevelyan's ear that engaging five or more strong men was not worth a good bed, but he held up a finger to his lips to stop him. He motioned for him to stay where he was and cover his flank while he stormed on from the shadows.

Dorian pursed his lips and shook his head furiously, but Trevelyan was already gone.

"Vishante kaffas!" Dorian muttered under his breath as he watched him move silently through the shadows and up the steep stairs to the main courtyard.

He followed soon after, unhinging his staff from his back. Dorian was not near as good at stealth as Trevelyan was, so a tiny spell to muffle the sound of his boots on the stone floor would have to do the job.

The sound of Trevelyan's throwing knives slicing through the air and finding their target with a sharp thud and muffled grunts came much, much sooner than Dorian expected. It was in a surge of panic that he climbed the rest of the stairs, already preparing a barrier to place over them both. He arrived at the stair landing, only to find a small bandit camp in complete disarray. A thick cloud of smoke from Trevelyan's smoke bombs covered everything, and men were scrambling in a panic for swords, bows and arrows.

Dorian didn't even have to cast a terror spell on them, so in shock were they all already. Instead, he cast one fireball after the next, their deafening cries echoing in the yard as they burned. Trevelyan was leaping in between them, agile like a fox, slashing at elbows, knees, throats, anything exposed by their armour. One by one, they collapsed, clutching their useless limbs as they bled out on the stone floor of the courtyard. With some fascination, Dorian noted that Heir's training had yielded results after all.

When all the bandits were motionless on the ground, Trevelyan glanced around them with some satisfaction. Dorian also gingerly surveyed the scene. The mutton on the spit sizzled over the fire, its skin shiny and golden brown. If he wasn't feeling a little queasy from all the death he had seen that day, he would seriously consider digging in.

"See?” Trevelyan said and placed his daggers back in their scabbards. “I knew we would manage."

"That was one gamble I would much rather not take again," Dorian said with some irritation as he slung his staff behind his back.

Trevelyan was no doubt ready to retort with a witty quip of his own when they heard a vicious roar coming from the tower above them.

“Uh-oh,” he said softly. His hands instantly flew to the daggers hanging by his belt. “I think we pissed someone off up there.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly inviting, no,” Dorian agreed.

Before they knew it, a beast of a man ran down the stairs, the largest war hammer Dorian had seen held fast in his grip. Dark eyes were peering at them from below a sturdy helmet, and his freshly shined pauldrons glinted the sun.

He looked at the corpses around them, his eyes wide with fury. “You killed my men,” he growled.

“That we did, yes.” Trevelyan slid his knives out of their scabbards. “Leave now, and we might consider sparing your life.”

The man’s face twisted in fury. His grip on his hammer tightened. “Not a fucking chance.”

He took a step forward, swinging his monster of a hammer towards Trevelyan’s head. He avoided it easily, hopping to the side. The bandit swung again, this time targeting his middle. Trevelyan leapt and rolled to the side, landing on his feet a little way away. The hammer cut through the air with a whoosh, only to land on a wall, sputtering broken stones and debris everywhere.

Dorian took advantage of the man’s surprise to cast lightning on him, zapping him where he stood. Trevelyan’s brows were knitted in concentration as he took out a small vial out of his belt and coated his blades with its contents. Then, before the bandit had recovered from his shock, he plunged his daggers several times into the gaps in the man’s armour. He growled in pain, stepping back and clutching his middle. Blood flowed through his fingertips and he stared at it, eyes impossibly wide.

“You bastard-“ he started, his bloody hands tightening around the shaft of his hammer. He took a step forward, his armoured bootsteps ringing, before he suddenly wobbled and dropped to his knees. Trevelyan’s face was expressionless as he watched him convulse violently and foam at the mouth.

Dorian’s fingers tapped against the wood of his staff where he stood, unsure whether he should wait for the man to rise. “That’s it? He fell so easily? I swear, his underlings put up more of a fight.”

“That’s because I didn’t use any poison on them,” he said, sliding his daggers back in their scabbards.

“Poison,” Dorian breathed, nodding slowly. Of course. Trevelyan always carried potent poisons with him, their recipes taught to him by Heir, but he had only rarely seen him use them. He watched with keen fascination as the man slowly bled to death, coughing and wheezing all the while. It was grizzly, surely, but he couldn’t deny his interest at seeing assassin tools at work.

“Well, that was that, I guess,” Trevelyan said casually. “Ready to do some exploring now?”

Dorian’s eyes snapped from the dead man on the floor to Trevelyan’s face. It was pale, as it always was, but his cheeks were slightly flushed, and a few drops of sweat arced slowly down his neck, pooling at the dip of his collarbone. The sight made a wave of yearning rise inside him. Dorian swallowed thickly as he tore his gaze away from it and glanced at the sun, already beginning to dive behind the tops of the hills. “I think we should go back. Seeker Cassandra will be looking for us.”

Trevelyan scoffed. “Don’t tell me we came all the way here and did so much work just so we could return to that miserable camp.”

Dorian looked at him, unimpressed. “That’s your idea of work?” he asked, gesturing around him.

“I… I didn’t mean it like that,” Trevelyan said, his brows furrowed and a hint of hurt in his voice. He ran a hand through his hair, then glanced at the men lying around them, and took a step back. “I’ll just go have a quick look. You can wait for me here. I won’t be very long.” And with that, he turned around and marched towards one of the tall towers.

“Oh, for the love of-“

Dorian’s eyes rolled so far up in his head, that he thought he would see the back of his skull. Trevelyan could make a saint curse, and Dorian was certainly no saint, but even so, he couldn’t bring himself to wait there while that fool of a man strolled about on his own in an unfamiliar fortress. With a sharp huff of irritation he walked briskly after him.

Trevelyan was already climbing the dingy wooden ladder leading up to the top of the tower when Dorian caught up with him. It looked fragile, and Dorian seriously doubted that it was leading to anything worthwhile, but he had to admit that the view from where he was standing was quite nice.

Trevelyan hopped up on the first level, quick and lithe as a cat. A moment later, a blonde head peeked through the opening to peer at him. “Are you coming, or were you just staring at my arse?”

Dorian jolted slightly at the question, then gave him a wide, teasing smile. “You can’t blame me for looking. It was right in front of me. Besides, there has to be some kind of reward for me after all the trouble you put me through, wouldn’t you agree? Beggars can’t be choosers in this case.”

An idea of a smile curled Trevelyan’s lips before he disappeared again, and Dorian heard the creak of the no doubt century old ladders as they protested under Trevelyan’s weight. Hurriedly he climbed up after him, cursing every time his cloak got tangled in his feet.

He arrived at the second level only to find Trevelyan staring up at the last ladder, a dilapidated thing that had seen better days. Dorian wiped the dust off his hands as he joined him.

“What’s wrong? Sizing up that ladder, are you? It is a most formidable foe.”

Trevelyan snorted a laugh. “No." He looked back up, his expression thoughtful. "I think there’s something up there.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. I can feel it in my head.”

Dorian looked at him curiously, then up at the next level. “Well, it doesn’t seem like a very good idea. I don’t think this ladder will bear both our weights.”

Trevelyan stood for a moment longer, as if considering. Then, he hopped on the ladder, climbing it as swiftly as if he were a monkey.

“And off he goes,” Dorian muttered through tight lips. “Of course. Why would he listen. Why would anyone ever listen. By all means, let’s disregard Dorian’s advice, who has read more books than all the Fereldans put together, and follow an utter fool because ‘he can feel something in his head’! Oh, if only I had something to smack some sense into that head of his-”

“Did you say something?” Trevelyan asked from atop the tower.

Dorian bit back many of the curses he was about to utter before climbing up the ladder. He emerged on the tower, grumbling under his breath, but all his protests died in his mouth when he glanced around him. Past the tower’s sturdy rock railing lay a view equal to which Dorian couldn’t remember seeing in a long while. The verdant valley stretched endlessly below them, the tops of oak trees and the tall grass stirring languidly in the wind. A stream flowed into a small lake, its waters glistening silver and gold as they moved. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in glorious reds and golds and pinks.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Trevelyan whispered beside him, his fingers threading softly through his.

Affection bloomed in Dorian’s chest, warm and soothing. He turned to look at him, at his face that was painted golden by the setting sun, at his dark blue eyes, almost violet in the warm light, at the mischievous smile that still lingered on his lips.

“You’re a fool,” Dorian said softly, threading his hand through his hair and pulling him closer, “but you’re _my_ fool.”

Trevelyan smiled as his lips parted, soft and pliant under Dorian’s. His hands curled around Dorian’s sides as he leaned towards him, fingers digging gently into his skin through his clothes. They kissed slowly, tenderly, without worrying about who was to see. It was just them there, after all. Two people standing at the top of the world.

Dorian pulled back slightly, running his knuckles down Trevelyan’s neck. Trevelyan’s expression was soft and dreamy as he looked at him, the warmth in his gaze drawing Dorian in like a magnet. He was about to lean in and kiss him again, when Trevelyan froze and glanced around him.

“What happened?” Dorian asked.

“I can feel it again. That thing in my head.”

Dorian watched him with increasing curiosity as he turned around, looking about him on the ground. Then, without a word, he stepped towards a corner of the tower, crouching beside some old casks and sacks of grain. He rummaged through them for a while before he pulled out a bottle, caked with dust, a look of utter glee on his face.

“See? I told you I could feel something!”

He hopped back to Dorian, holding up the bottle. Dorian edged back, his nose wrinkling in disgust, swatting him away.

“First of all, what _is_ that grimy thing; and second of all, can you keep it at least five inches away from my face? I’d hate to get what seems like two decades worth of dust on my clothes.”

Trevelyan wasn’t even paying attention to him as he brushed the dust off the bottle and squinted at the label. “Rowan’s Rose…” he muttered thoughtfully. “Isn’t that from Tevinter? From the Vol Dorma vineyards?”

Dorian’s eyes widened so much, he thought they would pop right out of their sockets. He took the bottle out of Trevelyan’s hands and stared at it. “I cannot believe this,” he gasped. “How on earth did wine like that find its way here? Even in Tevinter, it costs a pretty penny!” He eyed Trevelyan warily. “And you say you could feel it in your head that it was here? Is that a new skill of yours? Your affinity for liquor has reached an entire new level, I have to say.”

Trevelyan flashed him a wide, unabashed grin, the tiny dimple by his mouth more pronounced than ever. Dorian didn’t remember ever seeing him so damned exuberant. “Our trip here was worth it, then?”

Dorian rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on his face, too. “It will be once we’ve established that it’s drinkable. We cannot know how long it’s been sitting here. For all we know, it might have turned to vinegar about a decade ago. In any case,” he said, giving him back the bottle and walking towards the ladder, “now that we’ve found what we were looking for we can go back, don’t you think?”

He had only taken one step down the ladder, when it creaked and moaned in a manner that sounded entirely ominous. Trevelyan ran to his side and helped him up. It was mere seconds after Dorian had scrambled up to the tower that the ladder crumbled and fell, its pieces crashing against the floor of the lower levels. They both stared for a long while in silence as their only means of getting off that tower lay in rotten pieces below them.

Trevelyan cleared his throat. “You don’t think we could jump down without breaking anything, do you?”

Dorian glared at him, already feeling his blood rising to his cheeks. “No. I do not.”

“Oh.” He glanced down again, considering. Then, he shrugged and took a step back. “You’re probably right.”

Dorian could only watch as Trevelyan walked over to the dusty sacks on the tower corner and lay down on the floor with one arm tucked under his head, as if there was nothing else to do other than go to blasted sleep.

Dorian threw his arms up in the air in a plea towards the heavens. “Oh, for- now? Now you listen to me? After all the times that I’ve told you not to do something and you went ahead and did it anyway, _this_ is the time that you decided that I’m probably right?”

Trevelyan shot him a look of honest confusion, as if he had not a clue why Dorian was upset. “Well, there’s not much we can do, is there? There’s no point trying to get down now. I'm sure Cassandra will come after us if we’re gone for too long. She wouldn’t let the leader of the Inquisition die of starvation on a random tower. Besides,” he added, “it’s not that bad. The weather is still quite warm, and we have a bottle of exquisite wine. I say we just sit back and enjoy it.”

Dorian stared at him incredulously for a long moment. Then, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m starting to think this was all an elaborate ploy to get me alone.”

“Perhaps.” Trevelyan shrugged casually as he sat up and started working at uncorking the bottle. He gestured at the space beside him with his head. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

Dorian had a mind to really tell him what he thought of this whole debacle, but all his annoyance melted into grudging affection at the half smile that crept up Trevelyan’s lips, and the mischievous look that shone in his eyes. He huffed in irritation as he walked towards him and sat on the floor beside him. “You’re the most annoying, most troublesome man in all of Thedas, you know that?”

“I do,” he said softly, snaking his arm around Dorian’s waist and pulling him close. “And you’re the most beautiful, most fascinating man in all of Thedas.”

“Oh, no. No, no.” Dorian looked pointedly at him as he leaned back. “You won’t sweet-talk your way out of this. Don’t even try.”

“Sweet-talk? I was only telling the truth.” Trevelyan’s wounded look swiftly melted into a teasing smile. “Want to know what the most beautiful thing about you is right now?”

Dorian almost rolled his eyes, but couldn’t resist playing along. “Oh? And what, pray, is that? Don’t tell me my hair, or I might believe you.”

Trevelyan huffed a laugh. “No, although I do love your hair. It’s your eyebrow. The way you arch it like that. Just when you’re about to tell me off.” He drew Dorian towards him, and this time Dorian brought no resistance. Trevelyan lowered his voice to a soft whisper, his lips only a breath away from his. “Do it again.”

Dorian felt his hair standing on end as Trevelyan’s breath tickled his skin. He looked up into his eyes, trying as best he could to look annoyed. “You’ll be seeing a lot more of that eyebrow if you keep acting like that, let me tell you.”

Trevelyan chuckled breathily as he leaned closer, burying his face in Dorian’s neck and trailing soft kisses down the length of his throat, the wine bottle entirely forgotten beside them. Dorian could feel the smile on Trevelyan’s lips as a soft murmur ran over his skin. “I should make sure to annoy you more often, then.”

Dorian was sure he had a witty comeback to that. He really was. But when Trevelyan's lips touched his, and his warm hand slithered under his shirt, he entirely forgot what he had been about to say.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [JohaerysLavellan on Tumblr](https://johaeryslavellan.tumblr.com/). Come say hellooooo :3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! xoxo


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